Author Leah Smith has fantasized about her neighbor, Houston’s pro baseball player Marcus Slade,
for years, but thinks it’s unlikely she’d catch the cowboy’s interest since her IQ is bigger than her bra
size. Having already been hurt by a man who wanted size over substance, she’s not in a hurry to play in that ball field
again. When an unexpected opportunity gets Marcus inside his favorite author’s apartment, he’s not about to let
a second chance at love pass him by. Their attraction is quick and electric and has him instantly thinking about something
more long-term. But when a woman from his past intrudes, his hopes of a cozy Christmas with Leah are buried beneath her cold
shoulder. Risking a strikeout, Marcus has one chance left...go for the grand slam of his life and crash Leah's annual Christmas
Eve party in hopes of convincing her she’s this Cowboy’s Dream.

Four Angels from Fallen Angel Review

This story is worth the read in order to see him (Marcus) get the happy ending that he deserves. ~Whitney

Unedited excerpt:

The mouthwatering scents of seared steak wafted around Leah as Marcus escorted her into the world famous Kemah Boardwalk
Steak House. Her stomach grumbled, a reminder she hadn’t eaten since early morning.

The hostess greeted Marcus by name and smiled warmly at her.Leah glanced
at him, wondering how often he came to the restaurant.Celebration dinners should
be rare, not weekly—unless you found an excuse to celebrate every little thing.But what made them special then?

She slid into the booth and mentally shook her head.No matter what Marcus
did in the past, this was her celebratory dinner. She smiled as he sat opposite her and determined to enjoy his company for
as long as she had it.

The hostess handed them menus. “Would you like something from the bar, Mr. Slade?”

Marcus placed his Stetson beside him on the booth cushion and raised a brow at her.

“Whatever they have on tap will be fine,” she said.

He grinned and nodded.“Two beers, please.”

Glancingat his "celebration clothing,” she was glad she’d
summed him up right.She’d nearly put on the $900 designer gown she planned
to wear to next month’s charity fund raiser and made her look hot as hell, but at the last minute went over what she
knew about pro ball player Marcus Slade.

Celebrity though he may be, he was obviously still a cowboy at heart.Instead
of the silk and satin confection, she'd pulled on blue jeans and a simple blouse.She
matched his jeans and western-styled shirt quite well.

Leah opened the menu and looked it over.“You’re a man after
my own heart.There’s nothing better to celebrate with than a beer and
a good steak.”

He jerked back as if surprised.“You mean to say you’ll actually
order a steak?”

“Well, of course.” She laughed, brushing her hair behind her ear. “What’s the point of going
to a steak house and not ordering a steak?”

He opened his mouth, but then shut it for a moment before uttering, “Truth be told, most of the women I know
don’t eat much meat.”

That was no surprise.Most of the women she’d seen him with were
the size of twigs—except in the bosom area—and probably ate weeds.

“Well, I hope you brought along your charge card, because I haven’t eaten much today and I’m starving.
I plan to get a really big steak with all the fixings to celebrate.”

Marcus laughed. “Honey, the day I can’t afford to buy a pretty lady a steak is the day I’ll hang
it up for good.”

Her heart fluttered at the endearment. Sure, it was common enough for Texans to drop honey and darling like hello and
good-bye, but still, hearing it from Marcus made her insides quiver.

He wagged his brows, then glanced down to study his menu. She
released a small sigh. Since she was a Roughrider’s fan and had held season tickets for years, she’d known who
Marcus was before he moved into The Towers. To say she had a crush on him was probably an understatement, but she’d
never suffered from delusions, either.Leah Smith, plain, average daughter of
nomad archeologists just wasn’t the type of woman the major league outfielderdated.As much as she wished differently, she shouldn’t read more
into this ‘date’ than what it was—a friendly, celebratory meal.